


Passing Through

by whiteroses77



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Smallville
Genre: First Meetings, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteroses77/pseuds/whiteroses77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce is on his way home from Asia and passes through Smallville.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passing Through

TITLE: Passing Through  
PAIRING: Clark/Bruce  
AUTHOR: Whiteroses77  
RATING: PG-13  
WORDCOUNT: 5,697  
DISCLAIMER: I only own the story.  
SUMMARY: Bruce is on his way home from Asia and passes through Smallville, Kansas.

~B~

Bruce Wayne was finally on his way home. He had been away for years honing his skills mental and physical in preparation for his one-man crusade against crime. To put fear into the hearts of killers, muggers, and drug dealer’s, of abusers of any kind. To make sure no family, no child ever had to go through the pain that he had suffered, when his parents had been ripped from his life for no good reason. Bruce had honed his abilities and now believed only practical experience on the streets was the way forward. 

He had telegraphed Alfred from Asia, to let him know he was coming home. His faithful guardian and friend had wanted to come for him in the Wayne jet. Bruce had turned down the offer. He bartered passage on a freighter instead. He had arrived in Star City, and then set about travelling across America on foot, hitch hiking where possible.

Bruce believed; he needed experience meeting normal decent people. To give a face to the goals that he had for Gotham. To know that real people were capable of goodness and hope, something Gothamites were so cut off from. 

That was Bruce’s real mission to give the people of Gotham the chance to hope. 

~*~

He was now in Kansas, He had just passed the sign for Smallville. That was about right; the crime rate was probably none existent. The local sheriff was no doubt invited in for a cup of coffee and a chat, because he didn’t have much to do.

Bruce came upon a picture perfect farmhouse, sunny yellow paint, and white picket fence. It was the furthest thing away from his future in Gotham. Bruce felt drawn to it. He should move on, get back to Wayne Manor and start his preparations for his mission. Except Bruce knew that mission could be indefinite. Was he being selfish to put it off for a while? 

He had been travelling a long time and he was hungry. He hefted his backpack and entered the driveway. He walked under a shingle that said KENT. 

There was an older man there unpacking grain sacks from the back of a truck. Bruce called out, “Excuse me, sir, have you got any work going for lodgings?”

The man closed the tailgate of his pick-up truck. He turned towards him and revealed, “Sorry, son, this ain’t my property. I’m just the Kent’s neighbour, names Ben Hubbard. I’m just dropping off some supplies.”

“Well is Mr Kent around, so I can speak to him?”

Ben took off his hat. “You see Jonathan Kent died a couple years ago and Martha moved away for a job. Their son Clark works this place alone. God knows how that boy manages.” Ben looked around the yard. “Clark’s truck is missing but I’m sure he won’t be long.”

With that, Ben Hubbard got into his truck and drove away.

This was a perfect example of decent people expecting decency from everyone else, to leave a stranger, on your neighbour’s property, with no worries of theft. 

This was an alien world compared to Gotham.

Bruce walked towards the porch. He eyed the door. He’d wager his whole fortune that the door was unlocked. He went to the door and tried it. It opened easily. Bruce shook his head and shut it again. He went and sat on the porch steps.

Suddenly, a rusty furred dog; came rushing out of the open barn door. It came towards him barking. Bruce was somewhat relieved; at least there was some security. However, as the dog got nearer, he started wagging its tail. The dog came and sat next to him and nudged his hand with its nose. Bruce gave the dog a fuss.

“Are you what they call a guard dog around here?”

The dog licked his hand.

~*~

Half an hour had passed. Bruce was questioning his judgment. Here he was, sat on a farmhouse step in the middle of Kansas, waiting for some farmer, just because he did not want to go home and face the memories. 

A red pickup turned into the drive. 

When the cab door opened, a tall attractive man got out. He was wearing the farmers of the western world’s uniform. Work boots, durable jeans, and a plaid shirt (red). He wore them well. When he turned toward Bruce, he saw how young the man was. However, he could not gauge his age well, twenty at least maybe a little older. The thing that caught Bruce’s attention the most was his eyes, they were wide and bright, luminous even, beautiful. 

The dog was trying to start a hurricane just by wagging its tail so much.

“I see you’ve made a new friend.”

Bruce didn’t know if the man was talking to him or the dog, maybe both.

He came forward, “Hi, what can I do for you?”

Bruce stood up. “I’m just passing through. I hoped you had some work going for a day or two.”

Kent looked around them. He seemed hesitant. Was it payment? Was that the problem? Bruce asked, “Just for a bed and a meal?”

Kent studied him then, he saw his eyes sweep his body. He saw a sort of pity in them. Bruce knew he looked a little rough around the edges.

“Okay, I could do with some help, um if you would like to clean up, I’ll make some sandwiches.”

Bruce offered his hand. “Thank you, Mr Kent.”

Kent took his hand with a strong grip. “It’s just Clark.”

“Bruce.” He replied. 

~*~

Bruce looked in the bathroom mirror. Having a shower and shave, changing his clothes, made him feel almost like himself. Whoever that was? He could remember who he had been, the son of Thomas and Martha Wayne. He had his plans for whom, he would be, the thing which scared evil. But right now, he was just Bruce.

He grabbed his bag and went back downstairs. Entering the kitchen, the sandwiches were already prepared. He could hear someone speaking. Bruce went to the door. Clark was on the porch just looking out at the farm.

“…got to find something to do, I couldn’t turn him away.”

Bruce was baffled. This was a working farm, wasn’t it? He coughed. Clark spun around looking like a deer caught in headlights. 

Something strange was going on here but Bruce didn’t feel any danger. Clark blinked and then pretended nothing had happened. Bruce let him; it was none of his business. 

Clark glanced down, “Do you want to wash those clothes?” He motioned to the bag.

“Yes that would be great.”

Bruce followed Clark back inside. “Help yourself to the sandwiches.”

Clark took the bag to the laundry room. Bruce sat and picked up a sandwich. He bit into it. Bruce groaned, “Yum num.” He was so hungry that a simple sandwich tasted like heaven.

Clark returned. He smiled at the noises Bruce was making. “If you eat up you can have pie for dessert.”

Bruce looked up wide-eyed. Why did Clark all of a sudden remind him of Alfred? Actually, he knew why, this nice man was looking after him. Telling him to wash up, washing his clothes, making food, and rewarding him with baked goods for eating up.

Bruce laughed for the first time in a very long time.

Clark gave him an inquiring look.

“It’s nothing, what kind of pie is it?”

Clark told him, “Apple and cinnamon, why?” 

“That would be great, Clark.”

~S~

Clark knew he shouldn’t have allowed the drifter – Bruce to stay. Most of the community knew he somehow ran this farm by himself but they minded their own business. They never asked, ‘how?’ But by agreeing to give Bruce a job, he wasn’t going to be able to do his chores as he normally would. The actual time it would take at human speed would keep them working all day, just like his dad had done when Clark had been at school.

When hard times had come and his dad had to lay off the farm hands, his dad had depended on Clark’s abilities to keep the farm going. When Bruce had asked for the job, Clark had wanted to say no, but he had always been taught to help those in need.

Earlier, Clark had been trying to figure out some chores to do. He had already done today’s chores this morning. Bruce had caught him talking to the – land – his dad’s spirit that was still in this place. Clark was unsure of how much Bruce had heard. However, he never questioned what he’d said so that was a relief.

Bruce had tucked into those sandwiches as if he was starving. Maybe he was. When Clark had offered him pie, a gleam of life had appeared in his eyes changing his appearance from merely attractive into handsome. When he had laughed, he was striking.

To hear laughter in this old house had been heart-warming but also heart breaking. This house had always been his refuge against the world. The one place he could be himself and not hide. It had felt empty for a long while.

~*~

After the food, they went out to the yard. His neighbour Ben had dropped off some feed. Clark went in search of work gloves. Bruce needed them and Clark had to keep up appearances. 

“All these sacks can go over to that storehouse over there.” he told him.

Bruce nodded and hefted a sack on to his shoulder. Clark did the same. He almost laughed, when he misjudged the balance. It had been a long time since he had had to mime the heaviness of these sacks. Luckily, Bruce was over at the storehouse and didn’t see anything.

~*~

Soon they had a nice routine going. They would get up in the morning, work through the morning chores. Clark would cook an easy lunch. Bruce had let it be known his food was only edible in emergencies. Bruce was assigned preparation and Clark the cooking. Clark had never had vegetables cut with such precision; each dice was the exact measurement of the next. Then they would return to the land working side by side. It was nice; it reminded Clark of working with his dad. There was no need to talk there was comfortable silence. 

Even though the days were longer, Clark found he was smiling more, happy even. At sundown, they would prepare and eat dinner and then sit in front of the hearth and talk about everything. 

Their moms both called Martha, both devoted wives and mothers, both independent women in their own right.

Their dads both decent good men, respected by their peers. Both Clark and Bruce believed the respective fathers wouldn’t be happy with their son’s lives at the moment, Bruce because he’d walked away for his responsibilities and Clark’s because he was still living on the farm when his dad had wanted him to make his mark on the world. Both died much too early.

Bruce talked about Alfred and his gratitude to that gentleman, who never let him down.

Clark talked about his birth parents, their decision to let him go. How hard it must have been to give up their baby.

They discussed crime and punishment. Bruce posed was it ever right to take another’s life even if it spared others suffering. Clark was adamant it was not. He told Bruce that even though the court system was creaky at best, the taking of a person’s life should never be one person’s decision. What right did one person have to judge that a person should die? If a good man kills, how is that different to an evil man killing? The evil man has his own reason for killing; in his mind, he is just as justified as the good man is. 

They argued who’s peach cobbler was the best, Martha Kent or Alfred Pennyworth’s.

Bruce talked about his fear of bats and Clark talked about his fear of being alone.

Then they would retire for the night.

~*~

One night, Clark awoken to screams from down the hall. He found Bruce thrashing the bedclothes and whimpering. Clark shook him gently trying to wake him up. Bruce woke with start and because of the unexpectedness of the move. Bruce managed to pin Clark to the bed by his throat. When Bruce realized where he was and what he was doing, he jumped away and sat with his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry.” He muttered.

“It’s okay, are you alright?” Clark asked soothingly.

Bruce looked at him with the shine of tears in his eyes. “It’s my fault my parents died, they would never been in that alley if it wasn’t for me.” He admitted.

“Bruce, you have nothing to be ashamed about, there was nothing you could have done.” Clark argued.

“It doesn’t feel that way, Clark.” he said quietly.

“Trust me. Take it from someone who really was to blame for his father’s death. You weren’t at fault.”

“Are you crazy, you told me your dad died of a heart attack? How could that be your fault?” Bruce scorned.

“Bruce, my dad died in my arms out there in that driveway and I just froze just watched him take his last breath. I didn’t even pick him up and take him to the E.R. I just sat there.” He confessed. Clark couldn’t help the tears in his eyes. “That’s why I stay here, to keep his life’s work going. I don’t want all his hard work to go to waste.”

Bruce put his arm around Clark’s shoulder. “What do you think our dad’s would say if they saw us now?”

Clark felt a smile spread across his lips. “You’re right. Let’s go to bed.”

They both blinked. Their gazes locked. Then Bruce’s eyes dropped to Clark’s lips.

The unexpected chimes of the grandmother clock on the landing broke the mood. They both politely chuckled, and brushed off the moment. Clark left to sleep in his own bed.

~B~

Bruce was dressing; he had to go do the morning feed. Bruce couldn’t believe this was his life, morning feeds, and working the land. Bruce’s muscles were finally used to the hard labour. Before this week, he would have classed himself as having superior strength but he had found out that muscles used to lifting weights and the strength it took to do manual labour were two different things. Working all day and having the strength and stamina to carry on was more important than muscle definition.

As he returned from feeding the animals, Clark had breakfast ready. Bruce remembered the moment between them last night and their unspoken pact not to mention it. 

However, Bruce did find Clark very attractive, he was a very intelligent, and Bruce knew being a farmer didn’t make you a dimwit but Clark seemed exceptional. Their methods of deduction were sometimes at odds but their outcomes were pretty in sync. 

From last night’s, conversation Bruce knew why Clark was living here by himself. Loyalty to his dad even though Clark had already said Mr Kent believed in a future off the farm for him. 

Bruce could understand the appeal of a quiet life. He might even become seduced by it. 

After clearing up, the phone rang, and from Clark’s end of the conversation, it was a friend. Clark apologized for not being around. That he had been busy on the farm. Urgency came into Clark’s voice. There must have been some kind of accident because Clark was asking if people were all right. Then he told them, that he was on his way. Then he hung up the phone. 

“Is everything all right?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, I just need to meet someone. She needs my help with something. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Clark told him.

Clark collected his keys and wallet and then left in the truck.

~*~

Bruce was at a loose end. He headed up to the loft in the barn. Clark told him it was his sanctuary growing up. Bruce could understand the need for a place away from everything, a place to think things through. 

There was a telescope and books everywhere, To Kill a Mockingbird, books on psychology, physiology, physics and astronomy there was even a Guinness Book of Records, which was dog-eared. Bruce opened the first, fastest runners, and second, the strongest page, the next was holding your breath. . Interesting There was a book on pictographs, and drawn on the inside cover was a symbol, a diamond shape with a stylized S in the middle. 

On the walls, there were star charts. On the desk was a photograph of a pretty cheerleader. Bruce smiled and returned to the yard, he had to find something to do. 

~*~

After arranging and preparing the entire ingredients for lunch, Bruce dare not go any further. He did not want to eat his own dinner, not if he could help it. 

Bruce wandered again. He came across an old tractor in the barn, one he had not seen used since he had been here. If it was broken, maybe he could fix it. Bruce rolled up his sleeves and got to work.

~S~

When Clark got home, he called out for Bruce.

“In here.” He called back.

Clark came across Bruce in the barn, tinkering with the old tractor. “My dad and I have tried for years to get that old tractor working. It’s impossible.” He commented.

“I think I can fix it.” Bruce said.

Clark narrowed his eyes and looked from Bruce to the tractor and back again, “Really.”

“Yes really. Now pass me that spanner.” Clark glanced around at a loss for a second, and then Bruce smirked, “That’s English for wrench.”

Clark snorted, remembering that Bruce said his guardian was British, and then passed him the tool and stood back. After a few turns, Bruce told him. “That should do it, so start her up.”

So Clark did. The old tractor roared to life. Clark smiled an impossibly bright smile.

“All you need is the know-how.” Bruce boasted, just as the tractor spluttered to a stop. Bruce chucked the spanner at the machine. Clark burst into peals of laughter. Bruce shook his head, “This thing is not going to beat me.”

~*~

They returned to the house and Bruce inquired about Clark’s friend in need. Clark could not tell Bruce about it without sharing his secret. So he shrugged his shoulders and told him it was taken care of.

Clark cooked the meal Bruce had prepared. They ate and then in the afternoon, they were mending fences in the heat of the sun. Bruce took his shirt off and Clark watched as he enjoyed the sun beating down on him. Minutes passed and then Bruce asked. “Clark, isn’t it too hot for you in those shirts?”

Clark looked up at Bruce, he couldn’t help taking in Bruce’s form. He had to lick his lips. He looked around at the fields, at the sun. He normally kept himself covered up; it was easier to hide that way. He looked at the shirts he wore, it probably was weird to wear them in hot weather.

“Yeah, yeah you’re right.

~B~

When Clark took off his shirts, Bruce was stunned. He had known he was a large man but Clark’s body was exquisite. 

When the sunlight hit Clark’s body, he seemed to glow. Clark closed his eyes and stretched his arms out, embracing the sun. A sweet smile came to Clark’s lips, as if the sun was whispering its secrets to him. 

Bruce had never witnessed anything so beautiful in his life. His eyes trailed Clark’s body from his breath-taking face to the strong chest and toned muscle of his body and the bulge in his jeans. Bruce glanced at the sun then back to Clark, it was as if they were lovers. 

Clark’s eyes found Bruce’s then he blushed and then returned to his work. 

~*~

That evening after dinner, they were sitting drinking coffee as usual. Bruce asked the question that had probed his mind since last night. “If you didn’t have to worry about the farm, what would you like to do?”

“Honestly, I don’t know it’s been so long since I gave it much thought.” Bruce remained silent. He gave Clark a chance to consider. Finally, he said, “I would just like to help people, you know.”

“That describes a lot of professions, Clark. You’re a smart guy; you could do anything you want.” He urged.

Clark looked abashed for a moment. “A few years back I might have said journalist.”

“That’s not exactly a caring profession, Clark.” he said wryly.

“It could be if the focus wasn’t on crime and tragedy. With the right stories, it could give people hope, a chance to see that there are good people out there, people trying to make this planet a better place to live, and those heroes whose stories are unsung.”

Bruce smiled. “You would want to sing their praises?”

God, this man was so special, Bruce had travelled across America to witness that there were good people out there, to give him a beacon in his dark mission. But sitting here on a couch, on a farm in Smallville, Kansas was everything he needed, the hope for his mission, all in this one good man, this beautiful man.

Their gazes locked, and Bruce moved forward before anything could distract them. As their lips brushed together, Clark’s eyes fluttered closed and his hand came up to cup Bruce’s head. A small noise escaped his mouth as Bruce deepened the kiss and he wrapped his arms around Clark. The kiss became more intense as Clark took more control of it. There was no struggle for dominance, just an equality of take and give. Bruce had never experienced a kiss like it. 

As they shifted for a more comfortable position, their hands clung and ran over each other’s bodies. 

Bruce guided them down to lie on the couch, Clark didn’t protest, he just kept a hold of Bruce so their mouths didn’t lose contact. 

Their groins lined up, feeling the others hardness caused the kiss to become wetter, more urgent, with gasps of each other’s names. Clark’s hands on his ass pulled Bruce more tightly against him. Bruce buried his face against Clark’s throat, kissing and sucking there.

“Bruce.” Clark moaned. “Bruce. Let’s go to bed.”

~*~

Bruce lay in bed. Clark had his head pillowed on Bruce’s chest asleep. Bruce’s hand stroked Clark’s soft hair.

Tonight, this week had been the best of Bruce’s life. Bruce was scared to death. His whole life, training in Asia for all those years had been about one thing, one goal, his mission. 

He was scared because right now he could easily give it up and stay here with Clark. He could have a happy simple life. His parents and Alfred would probably be happy for him. But could he really forget the promise he’d made to himself? 

The other option was to take Clark back with him to Gotham and explain his plans, his mission. But could a country boy from Kansas be happy in a lifeless place like the Manor? Could he handle going to society parties and having to talk to vain air headed socialites? Could he understand the mission? Bruce didn’t know. 

The third option was to enjoy this time together, leave and go forward with his plans and live on memories.

“You think too much.” Clark whispered and kissed his chest over his heart.

“I know I wish I could stop. But I can’t.” he uttered.

“Go to sleep, Bruce, think tomorrow.”

Bruce smiled and shut his eyes.

~S~

For the next few days, their routine was the same as before, except in addition when they went to bed, they went to bed together. Clark was happier than he had been since his dad’s death. Bruce told him it was the happiest he had ever been.

Today, Clark had gone into town for supplies and Bruce was in another pitched battle with the old tractor. 

When he had gotten back, Clark had gone out to the barn. He wrapped his arms around Bruce from behind. “I’ve got something for you.” Clark whispered into Bruce’s ear.

Bruce chuckled. “I just bet you do.”

Clark nuzzled his neck. “In the house silly, I bought it from the store.”

“I didn’t think there were those kinds of stores around here, Clark.” Bruce joked.

Clark snorted. “Who’s in a funny mood?”

Bruce turned in Clark’s arms, “Not funny, Clark, just happy.”

Bruce kissed Clark then slowly, he sucked at Clark’s lips. Slow easy warmth spread through Clark. Bruce sank to his knees and started on Clark’s buckle. Clark licked his lips, and sighed, “I could get used to this.”

“So could I.” Bruce breathed against Clark, and then took him inside. Clark flung his head back. Yes, he could get used to this. 

~B~

When they entered the kitchen, Clark was talking about his plans for dinner. Bruce spotted the newspaper on the side. Bruce picked it up.

“What’s this?”

“That’s what I got you at the store; Mr James said there was mix up with the deliveries. When I saw it, I got it.”

It was the Gotham Gazette. Bruce sat down and read it from cover to cover. He was overwhelmed with the corruption and crime within its pages. It brought home the reasons for his training, his plans.

He had to return to Gotham.

“Bruce?” He startled and looked up at Clark. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t realize things were so bad in Gotham.”

“Oh?”

That is all Clark said, he turned around and carried on preparing dinner.

~*~

When they were in bed that night, they lay face to face, on their sides. Bruce was caressing Clark’s features.

He revealed, “I have to leave. I have to go home to Gotham.”

“Yeah, I know. I could tell by your face when you were reading the stories in the paper.” Clark said sadly.

“I’m sorry.”

“I understand, Bruce. I really do.” Then Clark kissed him.

~*~

The next morning, Bruce telephoned the Manor.

“Wayne Residence, how may I help you?”

Bruce answered, “Alfred, its Bruce.”

“Master Bruce, I was expecting you over a week ago.”

“I was side-tracked. I need you to send the jet to a small airfield just outside Smallville, Kansas, today.”

“Is everything all right, Master Bruce, you sound…?”

“I’ll fill you in when I get back.”

~*~

Clark drove Bruce to the airfield. They sat in silence until the jet arrived. Then they both exited the vehicle.

Bruce turned to Clark. “I just want to tell you, I’ll always cherish the memories of being with you on that farm. I want you to know you have been an inspiration to me. To know there’s people like you in this world. It will make what I have to do in Gotham worth it.”

“Bruce, I’ll never forget you either, to work side by side with someone, someone who sees more in me than the rest of the world sees. Clark said earnestly. “Thank you, you’ve made me see nothing is impossible.” 

Bruce saw the door of the jet open and the stairs descend. 

“I have to go.”

“Bruce. I …”

“I know Clark, don’t say it. I won’t be able to leave if you say it.” he tried to be stoic.

Clark nodded and offered his hand, “Goodbye, Bruce.”

“Goodbye, Clark.”

~*~

As Bruce drew close to the plane, Alfred appeared at the top of the steps and welcomed him. It was so good to see the old man. As they stood at the top of the stairs, Bruce turned and looked back at Clark. Alfred followed his gaze. “Is that whom all this has been about, Master Bruce?”

Bruce just nodded and entered the plane.

~S~

One Week Later

Clark bought the Gotham Gazette, he knew it was silly but…

The headline read WAYNE SCION RETURNS FROM THE DEAD. The photograph showed Bruce in an expensive suit.

~B~

Six Months Later

In the Batcave, Bruce was in the testing stage for the Batmobile.

Alfred came downstairs with a tray and a newspaper tucked under his arm. But Bruce didn’t have time for breaks. Alfred stood there until Bruce couldn’t stand it anymore. “What is it, Alfred, I haven’t got the time for interruptions.”

“Good manners are never a waste of time, Master Bruce.”

“I am sorry, Alfred. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Thank you, Master Bruce. I just thought you might be interested in the fact, that you seem to have been beaten to the chase as it were.”

Bruce frowned. 

“There seems to be a vigilante on the streets of Metropolis, he has become a welcome presence in that city.”

“Does anyone know who he is?” he wondered.

“No sir, it seems he moves so fast the citizens have named him the Red-Blue Blur.”

~S~

Meanwhile in Metropolis

“Have you seen this, Smallville, this great newspaper of ours as sank so low that a drunken playboy in Gotham makes our society pages?”

Clark shook his head. “I thought you didn’t read the society section, Lois. ‘It’s not real news’” Clark made the air quotes. 

Lois narrowed her eyes. “I had to read something while I was stuck in the queue for coffee, Smallville.”

“Who was it anyway?” he asked barely interested.

“Bruce Wayne so-called ‘Prince of Gotham’.” Lois muttered.

“What happened was anyone hurt?” he asked in concern.

“No just his mansion.”

Clark sighed in relief.

~*~

Six months after that.

Clark was checking online for news in Gotham. This mysterious Batman was in the news again. He had helped the Gotham police a crack a drugs ring. Lieutenant Gordon claimed they couldn’t have done it without the Batman.

~B~

Meanwhile, in the kitchen of Wayne Manor, Alfred was trying to get his charge to eat something. “You know, Master Bruce, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

“Of course it is, Alfred.”

Alfred pursed his lips. He might be able to get Bruce to eat something if he would stop reading the morning newspaper at the breakfast table. 

“I don’t believe it.” Bruce cried. Bruce shoved the newspaper in Alfred’s direction. “Look, read it.”

Alfred had not seen Master Bruce this excited since he was a small boy. He examined the page. His eyes were drawn to a small article at the bottom of the page.

‘The Unsung Heroes of Metropolis, by Clark Kent’ “Isn’t that your young man, Master Bruce?”

Bruce looked bashful for a second. Then he replied, “Yes, yes he is.” He snatched the article back. “He’s done what we talked about.”

“You’re proud of him, sir.” Alfred smiled. “Have you considered making contact, Master Bruce?”

Bruce looked adamant. “No Alfred. I can’t expect him to put up with my lifestyle. It wouldn’t be fair to him.”

~*~

Another year

Bruce was in the Batcave. The news networks were buzzing. All channels were showing one story. It seemed that Metropolis’s Red-Blue Blur had slowed down enough for witnesses. Lois Lane of the Daily Planet had gotten the first interview. He was an alien called Kal-El, who claimed he just wanted to help the people of Earth. All footage of him was unfocused however; eyewitnesses had claimed he was strikingly handsome. When the insignia on his chest appeared on screen, Bruce’s heart skipped a beat. He knew that symbol. Everything came together in Bruce’s mind every detail that he had filed away.

Maybe their lives weren’t as incompatible as Bruce had feared. He ran up the stairs to the kitchen, “Alfred.”

“Master Bruce, have you seen the news?”

“Yes Alfred. I’m going to see Jim. I want you to make something nice for dinner, something simple and hearty.”

Alfred asked confused, “Sir?”

“If my plan works, we will be having a guest for dinner.”

Alfred inquired, “Who sir?”

Bruce nodded to the TV on the corner of counter in the kitchen. It was showing the hero that the world now knew as Superman.

Alfred blurted out, “The alien, Bruce?”

Bruce blinked at the slip of the tongue, and then just smiled.

~S~

Clark was a little shaken up at the media attention. He had been saving the citizens of Metropolis for quite a while, but now he had decided to show himself it had become a media frenzy. 

He was still at work when the frenzy went into overdrive. 

“Oh my god, check this out.” A news staffer shouted out from the bank of news network monitors.

Onscreen was a shot of the Gotham skyline. The infamous Bat signal was shining in the sky, but instead of the Bat, it shone the House of El insignia in its beam. 

The reporters were speculating at the meaning, why was the Gotham police department signalling to Superman and not to their own Batman, was Batman in trouble, were Superman and Batman connected somehow. 

Clark didn’t know the answers for sure but he could make an educated guess. He left the newsroom and ascended to the roof of the Planet. He changed his clothes and leapt into the air. He headed for Gotham and the Bat signal. He followed it to its source. 

Batman was there waiting for him. Superman floated down.

Superman did not know the reason for the meeting, so he kept things formal. “Is there something I can do for you, Batman?”

“Yes there is, Superman.” He said roughly, “I need you to come home with me. So I can prove Alfred’s peach cobbler is the best in the world.”

Superman queried. “Shouldn’t we talk first?”

Batman shook his head “You know the rules. First dinner, then we talk, and then we go to bed.”

Clark grinned. “Okay.”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I gave this story an edit and polish 20-10-17


End file.
